


Date-ing

by SpraceJunkie



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Race is a cop, Soulmate AU, Spot is a lawyer, i think an original one? but I'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpraceJunkie/pseuds/SpraceJunkie
Summary: Race had six dates.His list was short.September fourteenth, when he was thirty-two.July fourth, when he was thirty-three.July ninth, also when he was thirty-three.September ninth, the second-to-last date when he was thirty-three.January twelfth, when he was almost thirty-four.February fourteenth, also when he was almost thirty-four.March sixteenth, his thirty-fifth birthday.Every date within the same two years. Dates that told him whoever his soulmate was, and whatever kind of relationship they would have was going to be a whirlwind.





	1. September 14

Race had six dates.

His list was short.

His sisters all had more than ten, some people he knew had more than twenty, or even thirty. 

He had six.

September fourteenth, when he was thirty-two.

July fourth, when he was thirty-three.

July ninth, also when he was thirty three.

September ninth, the second-to-last date when he was thirty-three.

January twelfth, when he was almost thirty-four.

February fourteenth, also when he was almost thirty-four.

March sixteenth, his thirty-fifth birthday.

Every date within the same two years. Dates that told him whoever his soulmate was, and whatever kind of relationship they would have was going to be a whirlwind.

The dates didn’t always mean the same thing for everyone.

For Gianna, the first date was the when she and her husband went out for the first time, the last date was their wedding.

For Bianca, the first was the day they met, the last was their first kid’s birthday.

Different people found different meaning behind their dates. Kids, weddings, meetings, dates, anniversaries, things like that. Some had breakups and getting back together, some had pets, some had years and years of important dates, some only had a couple.

Race had six dates, six big milestones in his life with his soulmate.

That didn’t mean only six milestones would ever come to them, it just meant that the six on his list were so important, other ones wouldn’t seem as meaningful in comparison.

While he was growing up, those six dates printed in neat little black numbers on his arm seemed so far away he could ignore them. When he was in college, they were in the back of his mind, but he didn’t worry.

He dated, he had fun, and he and everyone he was involved knew it wouldn’t be anything serious.

When he was twenty-two and fresh out of college, newly in his job as a police officer, the dates were ten years away. Ten years to have fun and date whoever he wanted.

When he was twenty-five, it started to feel a little closer, only ten years until the last date. It started to feel weird to date, because he knew it wouldn’t last and he knew there was somebody out there perfect for him and the person he was going out to dinner with most likely wasn’t that person.

By the time he was thirty, he’d pretty much stopped dating all together. His dated started in only two years, and that felt so close.

He was a detective now, at home in his job, ready for the relationship already laid out in tiny black numbers on his arm.

The thing about the dates was that you could be as obsessed with them as you wanted to. You could think about them nonstop, carefully plan your days so the answers would be obvious, but it never worked out like that.

Vera’s first date had been while she was still in high school, and even when she’d tried to stay home all day so she could know exactly what the date was referring to, only to have the fire alarm go off and end the day with her out on the street with everybody who had been eating dinner in the restaurant, leaving her having to wait until one of them came back two months later and struck up a conversation.

Race had learned through watching both his sisters and his friends go through it that the best way to make it work just right was to just let the days go normally. Trying to mess with it wouldn’t do anything but confuse things.

So, on the September fourteenth when he was thirty-two, he went to work like normal. He sat down at his desk and finished paperwork from the day before, he talked to the chief and his friends just like normal.

Of course, it was less normal that they were working on a homicide, but at least they had a suspect in custody.

And even though Race was trying his hardest to focus on the interrogation happening in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen today. Would he meet his soulmate? Realize he already knew them? Have something happen that directly led to them meeting on the next date?

“Excuse me?” Race turned to the door at the unfamiliar voice, and felt his breath catch.

He’d seen the new DA before, but since he’d only been elected a couple days before, he hadn’t actually met him.

His name was Sean Conlon, and Race might have had a passing thought about how hot he was the first time he’d seen him, but he was kind of incredibly hot when they were face to face.

Although, he was short. Kind of ridiculously short, actually, like so short he barely came up to Race’s shoulder. So short Race would have bet he was wearing a suit from the junior’s section, and his feet were probably small enough to fit in kid’s shoes, too. He was comically short, in fact. And if Race spent too much time thinking about how short he was, he was going to end up making a bad joke and offending the brand new district attorney before he even introduced himself, and he’d be right back where he’d been with the old one, only with height instead of bad taste in facial hair.

“Hi. I’m Race.”

“Right, Detective Higgins. This is Jared Hill?” Race nodded, stepping further towards the wall to give the lawyer more room in the tiny room.

“Victim’s ex-boyfriend. History of domestic violence, and caught with receipts in his pockets from a pawn shop that had some of the stuff we could confirm as stolen from her apartment. He hasn’t confessed yet.”

“He won’t.” Sean Conlon said, completely confident. “At least not anytime soon.” Race nodded again, since he’d said the same thing Race had been thinking. It was pretty obvious Hill was lying, especially considering he’d changed his alibi and the name of his “friend” who could corroborate, but he was also lying so confidently it was obvious he wasn’t planning on telling the truth. 

“Are you going to prosecute?”

“It’s open and shut. Of course I am.” The lawyer turned to him. “Unless there’s something I’m missing here. The evidence all looks like it points to him.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Spot, by the way.”

“Spot?” The lawyer smiled slightly.

“That’s what most people call me.” He offered Race his hand, and Race shook it. 

“He won't admit to anything.” Race’s partner Albert came out of the interrogation room and into the viewing room, joining the two in watching Hill stare at the two way mirror like he could see them back there. “But I think we have enough.” Spot nodded and introduced himself, flipping through his file again.

“We’ll get him.” He said confidently. “We can charge him.” He walked out, leaving Race and Albert alone.

“He’s something.” Race nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his arm through his sleeve. “He prosecuted a few cases last year, remember? He’s good.”

“He wouldn't have won DA if he wasn’t.”

“He’s better than Ryans was.”

“Ryans was a stuck up old fart who only kept winning because it was tradition to vote for him. Spot only had a chance because he retired.”

“He was on Ryans’ staff the last couple years, too. Anyway, I’ll go handle the rest of this paperwork. You should go home. Didn’t you work late yesterday?”

“Not really. Only and hour or so. But thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you.” Race kept his eyes open on the way home, noting the face of every person he bumped shoulders with on the subway, every random guy who smiled at him when they passed. Somebody or something today was important enough to merit a little black date printed on the inside of his arm, and even if he thought he knew what it was, he couldn’t really be too safe.


	2. July 4

July fourth, when he was thirty-three. 

When he was younger, the Fourth of July had been a very strange Italian-American celebration. Sparklers and hotdogs at the back of the restaurant, sure, but also chocolate cannoli and more types of pasta than were really reasonable for a family get together.

Once they were all older, it wasn’t as big of a deal. By the time Race was twelve, all them thought they were too old for sparklers, and it became one more excuse to eat too much pasta and dessert, only this time they got to call it patriotism.

Now, he just went out after he got off with his friends from work.

This particular Fourth of July, they’d just won a trial they’d all been worried about losing, and it felt pretty good to be going out to celebrate.

“Spot! You should come!” Race called out cheerfully to Spot, who was leaving by himself.

“What?”

“We’re going out for a drink. You should come!” Over the nine months since they’d met, Spot had slowly warmed up to Race to the point where he’d consider them to be friends. 

Race had also gotten pretty sure that the fact he’d met Spot on his first date hadn’t been a coincidence. He definitely wanted Spot, and wanted to be something more than friends. The big question was if Spot felt the same way.

“I don’t drink.”

“So order a soda and sit and chat, dummy. I’ll drive, come on!” Spot paused and considered.

“If you pay.”

“I’ll buy for you and no one else.” Spot smiled and followed Race out to his car.

“You go out after every trial?”

“No, but it’s Fourth of July. We always go out on Fourth of July.”

The bar they went to wasn’t crazy, especially on a Wednesday night, even when it was the Fourth of July. There were always the couple of rowdy people, and tonight there was a table of obnoxiously patriotic people in loud clothes who were obviously already pretty drunk, but their table was calm.

Albert was sipping something fruity already when Race and Spot sat down, earning him more than a few jokes aimed in his direction.

A few of the others had beers, a couple had other drinks. Spot immediately ordered a soda, and Race, since he was driving, did the same.

“Ooh, a rootbeer. Risky.” Jack grinned and poked Race in the side.

“Unlike you, Kelly, I have my own car to drive home. Wait, so do you, you’re just such a bad driver they don’t let you do it anymore.”

“Correction, I’m such a good cop I don’t have to do it anymore.” Everyone settled into easy conversation like they always did, and even though it took Spot a while to get involved with the conversation, once he had, he was making better jokes than most of the other people.

He had a fairly dry sense of humor, but great timing. He was great at chiming in at just the right time to make a quick joked before slipping back out of the conversation, smiling just enough to cue people in that he’d said something witty.

By the time they were all getting ready to leave, most of the other guys were at least a little bit tipsy. 

“Spot! The car is this way.” Spot turned, raising his eyebrows.

“I can take the subway.”

“Or you can get in my car and not have to ride a tiny train full of weirdos at eleven o’clock at night.”

“How do you even know where I live?”

“You can tell me.”

“What if it’s in the wrong direction?”

“I’ll add a whole ten minutes to my commute. Big deal.”

“And how do I know you don’t just want to kidnap me?” Spot grinned at Race.

“Oh yeah, sure, let me just kidnap the DA, not like he could land me in prison for the rest of my life or anything.”

“Or proposition me.”

“If it’s not obvious I think you’re hot now, you’re way too oblivious to be a good lawyer.” Spot laughed for real and climbed into Race’s car.

“I’m only like twelve blocks away, anyway.” Race shook his head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, am I?” Spot was much more relaxed than Race often saw him. When he was working, he was put together, stoic, deadpan. He had more control of a room than Race could ever hope to have. When he talked, people listened.

Now, slouched in Race’s passenger seat, he was making bad jokes in response to every one Race made. 

And it kind of seemed like he was flirting back, at least a little.

“This one.” Spot pointed to an apartment building ahead of them. “Entrance is just around the corner.”

“Here?”

“Yeah.” Race pulled into the parking garage underneath the apartment. “My space is there. Nine C.”

“You don’t have a car?”

“No. I don’t really go anywhere but the city, and public transport or friends are cheaper.” Race pulled up and stopped, unlocking the door. “What, you’re not going to walk me to my door?” Spot challenged.

Something in the mood shifted. Instead of being light, instead of them joking and laughing, there was a genuine challenge in Spot’s eyes.

“Do you want me to?”

“Isn’t that how this is supposed to go?” Race turned the car off and clicked his seatbelt off, more to test the water than anything else. Spot almost imperceptibly nodded and opened his door.

Nobody else was in the parking lot, the noise of Race’s car beeping when he locked it was the loudest thing around them, and even their footsteps on the concrete seemed loud.

Spot led him up a flight of stairs, then another, and another.

“Isn’t there an elevator?” Race asked, half joking. 

“I hate elevators.” Spot looked at him. It was less awkward after Race broke the silence, not quite back the comfortable jokes they had been sharing in the car, but at least not the awkward, kind of nerve-wracking mood that had filled the parking lot.

Twelve flights of stairs later, Spot unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Race paused outside, not quite sure where this was going or what he was supposed to do now. Spot offered Race his hand, tugging him into the apartment and closing the door behind them.

There was an awkward pause where Spot hadn’t let go of Race’s hand but was still a couple steps away. Race’s breath wasn't coming as evenly as he would have liked, especially when Spot took a step forward and another, so they were standing so close all Race would have had to do to kiss him would be to lean down.

Their height difference was even more apparent when they were so close, with Spot barely coming up to Race’s shoulder. Race smiled in spite of himself when he noticed that, and Spot, tilting his head back to look at Race’s face, frowned.

“What?”

“You are so incredibly short. What are you, four six?”

“Five one.” Race laughed. “Stop laughing at me.”

“It’s cute. You’re so short.” Spot smiled a little bit and stepped even closer, pressing their hand inbetween their chests.

Race was spiraling rapidly into extreme overthinking. 

Obviously, this was not platonic. Obviously, Spot wanted Race to at least kiss him. Why else would he be pressing in so close or starting to go up on tiptoes so their heads faces were closer to the same level?

But what if that wasn’t what he wanted? What if Race was completely, entirely misreading this situation? What if he leaned down to kiss Spot and Spot didn’t want that and-

That train of thought was cut off quickly when Spot yanked their hands down and kissed Race as soon as he was low enough to reach. That train of thought was quickly, _quickly_ , derailed by how good of a kisser Spot was. Even at the weird angle from how they were standing and how Race’s neck was bent, he was a really good kisser.

Spot pulled back and stared at Race for a second.

“What?”

“This is okay?”

“Yeah, Spot, this is okay.” Spot pulled Race back down to kiss him again, wrapping his arms around Race’s neck. This angle was better, less awkward, and Race lost track of time, losing himself in the headiness of kissing Spot.

They could have been kissing for two minutes or twenty when Spot pulled back again and tugged Race towards the living room, letting them fall back on the couch.

Kissing Spot standing up had been nice, making out with Spot sitting on his lap, pressing him into the couch was hot. Like, really hot. Like, Race was going to have a horny high school boy moment pretty soon kind of hot.

Spot had obviously picked up on how much he was getting to Race, too, judging by the smug smile Race could feel against his own mouth. 

Race was the one who shifted them next, flipping them so he was lying on top of Spot, horizontal across the couch.

“Hey. Hey.” Spot pushed Race up out of the kiss. “We-we are not making a mess on my couch. Bed?” Race nodded and stood up, pulling Spot up with him. Spot led him back to his bedroom, pushing Race down on the bed and climbing on top of him.

Things moved too fast to really keep processing as they happened after that. Spot touching his skin under his shirt, pulling at the hem to ask permission to take it off, clothes coming off and skin on skin, completely overwhelming in the best way possible. 

When things slowed down, Race was breathing hard and he could tell his whole body was flushed. Spot’s head was on Race’s shoulder, and his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Race?”

“Yeah?”

“That was good.”

“Yeah.”

“Stay over?” Race smiled.

“Sure.”

Race woke up in the morning confused, briefly forgetting the night before. Spot was curled into his side, an arm thrown over Race’s chest and still asleep. The clock said six, which meant he had to be at the station in an hour, even though he kind of really just wanted to stay and sleep some more with Spot on top of him. 

The way he was positioned, he could see the little black dates on his arm.

September fourteenth, the day he’d met Spot.

July fourth, the night they’d had sex for the first and hopefully not last time.

July ninth, Saturday. Only five days until he was halfway done with his dates.

He tried to get himself disentangled from Spot without waking him up, but Spot blinked awake as Race sat up.

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to be at work soon.”

“Shower over there.” Spot was much less eloquent half-awake than he was normally, and his hair was an absolute mess. “Shampoo and stuff.”

“No, you mean to tell me you keep shampoo in your shower? And not in your fridge?” Race grinned at how befuddled Spot looked. “You’re not used to waking up this early are you?”

“Nine most days.” Race kissed his head and pushed himself out of bed. Spot was already drifting back to sleep by the time he’d collected his clothes and made it to the bathroom, and by the time he was dressed and ready to go, Spot was sound asleep, curled up under the covers in the dead center of the bed.


	3. July 9

Spot didn’t come by the station that day, or the next, and he didn’t call, either. Race didn’t really want to call first, mostly because he wasn’t sure if Spot wanted to actually date or not and he didn’t want to embarrass himself either way.

When Spot did walk into the station on Friday, Race wasn’t exactly sure how to react. He settled for ducking his head down towards his desk to hide his instant blush, and hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of all his colleagues.

“Man, you got it bad for the DA, huh?” Jack, ever the annoying observer, dramatically spinning his chair around and pushing himself to Race’s desk. “Do something about it.”

“Maybe I have.” Jack laughed.

“Ooh, did you get rejected? Racetrack Higgins? Rejected by a hot guy? Who would have thought it possible?”

“He didn’t reject me.”

“So he said yes? Why are you so shy then? Are you nervous about a date? When is it?”

“Shut up, Jack. We aren’t going on a date.”

“Wait, so he didn’t reject you but you aren’t going on a date…” Race could see the light bulb go off over Jack’s head. “Oh my god, you hooked up with Spot Conlon, the district attorney...oh my god it was the Fourth of July wasn’t it?” Jack cackled gleefully. “You had sex with the DA. Was it good? Ooh, did you go to his place? What was it like?”

“None of your business.”

“So it was either _really_ good or _really_ bad.” Jack spun back to his desk quickly, going silent, and when Race looked up to see why, Spot was coming towards him.

“Hey. Can we talk?” If Race hadn’t known Jack so well, he would have though the cough from behind him was just to clear his throat, but it was really Jack trying to cover a laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” Spot walked outside, Race following him.

“I like you.” He said abruptly. “I want to go out on Saturday.” 

“I...okay, sound great. What time?” Spot blinked like he hadn’t been expecting Race to respond like that.

“I don’t know. I was going to call you but I don't have your number.” Race felt kind of like an idiot for that one. They’d known each other for almost a year, been friends for at least half that, and somehow he hadn’t given Spot his number, and Race hadn’t even thought to leave it when he left his apartment the morning after.

“Okay, well, give me your phone, I’ll put it in.”

“You don’t have to, you know.” Spot glanced at the ground before making eye contact with Race again. “If you don’t want to go out with me, just say.”

“Spot, I would love to go to dinner with you on Saturday.” Race smiled at him. “I wouldn't have gone home with you if I didn’t like you.” 

“Okay. Just...yeah.” Spot smiled at him and opened his phone, handing it over. Race put his name and number in, adding a couple of emojis mostly to see Spot’s reaction when he saw them.

“Race...heart, winky face...eggplant?”

“Gotta add some color so you know it’s me.” Race grinned at him, almost sure he could see a blush under the white spots on his cheek.

“You’re the only person named Race I know.”

“I’ll bet I’m the only person in your phone with those emojis, too.” Race glanced back inside, knowing he had to get back to work soon. “Text me, okay?” He kissed Spot really fast before heading back inside, turning and waving to Spot at the door. He was smiling, and that made Race smile.

“Hooking up again tonight?” Jack had a shit eating grin on his face and his feet up on Race’s desk, eating an apple loudly.

“Why are you always at my desk? You have your own desk. Right there.”

“You are.” Jack pushed off towards his own desk, letting Race sit down again.

“No, we’re going out on Saturday.”

“Ooh, where?”

“I don’t know yet, Jack-ass, why don't you do your work and leave me alone.” Jack bit his apple again, purposefully crunching it as loud as he possibly could.

“But making fun of you is so much more fun than doing work.”

“Fuck off.”

Spot texted at the end of the day, just as Race was getting home.

_Hey. This is Spot. There’s a nice Italian place a couple blocks away from my apartment that I was thinking of for tomorrow._

_What’s the name?_

_Arabella’s, I think._

_lmao probably not that one my dude_

Spot took a minute to respond.

_Why? And what does “lmao” mean?_

_what are you, fifty? Lmao means laughing my ass off. And we shouldn’t go there unless you want to meet my parents on our first date because my family owns Arabella’s. My mother /is/ Arabella._

_Oh. Probably not the best idea._

_no you’ll like them when you meet them but first date? Bad idea. There’s another nice place just down the street though. I think it’s french tho_

_Vignes de Fleurs?_

_that’s the one. it’s cute, no?_

_So that’s where we’ll go then. I’ll make a reservation._

_okay! text me the time when you know_

Again, Spot took a minute to respond.

_7\. I’ll pick you up at 6:30?_

_that was speedy_

_We can walk, right?_

_I don’t see why not, sure._

_See you tomorrow then._

_See you!_

When he woke up the next morning, Spot had texted for his address, and by six, Race was ready to go.

He kind of hated first dates. He hated trying to impress people, and he hated getting dressed up to go out. He hoped it would be better this time, considering he’d already hooked up with Spot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a little bit nervous.

Spot knocked on his door at six thirty, pretty much on the dot, smiling when Race opened the door.

“You look nice.” He said, stepping to the side so Race could join him outside. 

“You too.” They made small talk as they walked. It was a beautiful night, warm but not too warm, and the sun was setting around the buildings, making everything look softer and cleaner than it really was.

The restaurant they went to was one Race had been to a couple of times before. It was small, but nice, and the food was good.

Also, it wasn’t owned by his parents and none of the staff was one of his sisters, so that instantly made it better for a first date than Arabella’s.

“You’re family really owns Arabella’s?” Spot pulled out his chair for him before sitting down himself.

“Yeah, I grew up on top of it. I guarantee if we go on a date there my sisters won't leave us alone all night. Not the best first date, really.”

“Sisters? Plural?”

“Six. I’m the youngest. Only two still live in the city, but both of them pick up shifts at the restaurant, so the risk is too great.” Spot laughed, and they settled into an easy conversation.

The food was good, Spot was funny, and Race was thoroughly enjoying himself.

By the time they left, it was nine thirty. Spot walked him home, holding his hand and still keeping up the light conversation as they went.

When they got to Race’s apartment, Spot went up on his tiptoes and kissed Race lightly.

“This was nice.” He said.

“Yeah. It was.” Race smiled at him.

“Do you want to go out again?” Race almost missed the slight hesitation in his question.

“Yes, Spot, I want to go out again.” Spot smiled at him then, and kissed him again before letting go of his hand. 

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“I’ll see you.”

When Race went to bed, he ticked off the dates on his arm.

September 14, the day he met Spot.

July fourth, the night they hooked up.

July ninth, their first date.

Everything with Spot lined up too completely perfectly for Race to not believe that he was his soulmate.


	4. September 9

Over the next few weeks, Race started to wake up in Spot’s bed as often as his own. They had a really comfortable relationship by the time they’d been dating for a few weeks. Spot may have taken him to a pretty nice restaurant for their first date, but he was just as happy to walk in the park on a lunch break or spend a free afternoon wandering a museum together.

He was much more of a romantic than he’d seemed at first, too. He didn’t mince words, at all; if it could be said in three words he’d find a way to say it in two, but he also always seemed to know exactly what to do to make Race smile or blush.

Race started to find himself waking up fully clothed, pressed against Spot quietly in the morning, having made some excuse as to why it was best if he just stayed over anyways.

As weird as it was, he’d kind of lost track of the dates on his arm.

He knew who his soulmate was, he’s already had the important realizations, and he was comfortable and happy in their relationship.

“Race. Race. Hot stuff. You’re gonna be late if you don’t get up, like, now.” Spot woke him up by poking his side and talking directly into his ear.

“What?”

“It’s six thirty. You’ll be late.” 

“Shit.” Race got out of bed quickly, and raced through his routine.

It took him fifteen minutes to pull himself together, and by then, Spot was sitting in his kitchen, a travel mug full of coffee for Race next to him, yawning.

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“You’re here often enough I figured it was a worthwhile investment.” Spot gave him a light kiss and pushed him towards the door. “Go. You can make it almost on time if you leave now.”

“Love you!” The door closed behind him before he really realized what he’d said. Of course, once he had realized, that was all he could think about.

Yeah, he knew what they had was good, and he knew Spot cared about him, and he knew he was almost positive Spot was his soulmate, but they’d never actually _talked_ about how deep the feelings went.

All day, he couldn’t stop thinking about how easily it had slipped out.

“Love you!” He’d said, like it was something he said every day. “Love you!” Like it something he’d already said. “Love you!” Like it was no big deal, no big deal at all.

As silly as it seemed, it made him almost nervous to meet Spot after work.

It didn’t exactly help that Spot barely talked while they walked together, or that Spot just led them right to his apartment without getting something to eat on way. Both things that happened often enough, but that still made him nervous.

And then Spot gave him a tiny smile and opened the door and pulled him inside and kissed him just like he had that first night.

“I love you too, you know.” He whispered when he pulled back, his eyes closed. “I know it’s silly but I’ve been thinking about it all day. I love you.”

It wasn’t until much later, when the moonlight coming through the blinds above Spot’s bed highlighted the scars on his back and Race was comfortably tangled in both Spot and the blankets that he glanced down at Spot and instead had the black numbers on his arm catch his eye.

September fourteenth, when he was thirty-two. The day they’d met.

July fourth, when he was thirty-three. The first time they’d hooked up.

July ninth, also when he was thirty three. Their first date.

September ninth, the second-to-last date when he was thirty-three. Today. A day that would have been completely and totally normal, except for the fact that it was the first time they’d said in words how much they cared.

That must have been what the date meant.

“I love you.”


	5. January 12

The second to last date Race saw coming.

New York law said a couple had to hold a marriage license for twenty-four hours before actually getting married.

On January tenth, Spot suggested, like it was no big deal, that they get married.

On January eleventh, at nine in the morning, they’d gone to the courthouse and gotten a marriage license and planned to come back the next day to actually get married.

On January twelfth, when he was almost thirty-four, they went back to the courthouse after work, suffered through several excruciating jokes about gay elopement, and gone home as legally man and husband. Husband and husband. Man and man. Knowing several knew, almost-but-not-quite-offensive jokes.

He hadn’t told anyone they were getting married except Jack, who they made come be their witness.

Nothing really felt like it changed right away, mostly because it didn’t. They still went home to the same apartment they’d been sharing for two months, still fed the fish and crawled into the same bed.

The only real difference was the rings they both hung around their necks.

Spot had a habit of whispering when he thought Race had fallen asleep, and that was another difference. 

That night, when he whispered, he didn’t just whisper tiny sweet nothings, he called Race his husband and Race could hear the smile in his voice.


	6. March 16

Race didn’t like to make a big deal of his birthday.

He was the youngest of seven kids, by the time he was having birthday parties, his parents had perfected the formula of good family, good food, and a few good presents, and that’s all he wanted.

He hated, absolutely despised, people at work making a big deal of it with singing and cupcakes and annoying birthday boy jokes.

So he was perfectly happy that all that happened on his birthday was going to the apartment he’d grown up in, with his mom and his dad and two of his sisters and his husband, to be given a new pasta roller and some very strange socks from his sisters, and to spend the night just having a good time with the people he loved most in the world.

His sisters (and his mom and dad, even though they’d deny it), still hadn’t quite forgiven Spot for eloping with him, even though they liked him a lot. They liked to tease him in Italian, and Race enjoyed watching his struggle to keep up, even while he was sticking up for him.

By the time they were going home, it was late, but Spot seemed to get more energy the closer they got to home.

“What is going on with you? Normally you want to be asleep by the nine.”

“I have your present at home. Jack dropped it off. You’ll love it.” Spot grinned at him, squeezing his hand.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to. It wasn’t just for your birthday, it just worked out.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Maybe I planned it a little bit. But not a lot.”

“I’m sure you didn’t spend weeks finding a way to make it work for my birthday.” Spot laughed.

When they got home, Spot made Race wait outside while he opened the door and stuck his head inside, like he was checking to make sure Race’s present was there.

“Come see.” Spot was grinning again when he pulled Race inside.

“Ohhhh my god.” Race was on the floor in a second, taking the puppy that Jack was holding into his own lap. “Hi baby yes hi hello aren’t you a sweet baby hello puppy dog hello baby hi hello!” Jack left while Spot laughed at his husband on the floor, letting the puppy crawl all over him and lick his face.

“I know we don’t want kids but I figured a puppy was a good thing.” Spot sat down next to him. “And your present is you get to name him.”

“He’s not the present?”

“He’s for both of us. You get to name him.” Race picked the dog up under his armpits and held him up like Simba.

“Marbles.”

“Marbles the dog?”

“No veto power. Marbles. We’ve lost our Marbles!” Race grinned, passing their puppy over. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And just like that, Race realized he was done with his dates.

They’d met, hooked up, become official, said I love you, gotten married, and gotten a dog. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six little numbers, telling their story from start to what definitely wasn’t the end, but was a good stepping off point for the rest of their lives.

“Today was my last one.” Race said out loud abruptly. He knew Spot had probably seen his dates at some point and connected the dots, he’d seen Spot’s and known what most of them meant, but they’d never really had to talk about it. They just knew they were right for each other, that was enough. “I think Marbles the dog just sealed your fate as my soulmate.”

“What were they all?”

“Meeting, hooking up, dating, love you, getting married and today.”

“I only have four.” Spot stood up and gently put Marbles in the pen set up in the corner of the living room and offered his hand to Race. “Realizing I like you, saying I love you, moving in together, and getting married.”

“The first one was the only one I didn’t recognize.”

“It was a paradoxical one. I was wondering what it meant that day, and realized I like you, which meant I realized you were my soulmate, which meant they were dependent on each other.” Spot kissed him. “Now I am tired, and we’re gonna have a mess to clean up tomorrow, so we should go to bed. Happy birthday.”

“I love you.” Spot smiled and kissed him again.

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always a slut for a good Soulmate AU so take this one. 
> 
> I'm Asper, as always, and I really appreciate comments and kudos!
> 
> Come hang out on Tumblr, @enby-crutchie!


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